Dylan sat quietly in the rear seat of his father's
Oldsmobile. The car hummed a monotonous drone as an endless sea of
corn stalks, trees and unevenly dispersed foliage flew past the
windows. It was another trip to Grandpa's cottage. To Dylan's
parents, it meant visiting, escape from work and relaxation. But to
Dylan it meant boredom and being forcibly subjected to his father's
oldies radio station.

"How much further?"
Dylan asked, fully aware that they'd been on the road only an hour
or so.

"Oh, about forty-five
more minutes kiddo," his Dad replied as his head bobbed from side
to side with a song directly from Franklin Roosevelt's term.

"Honey, did you
remember your fishing equipment? You know Grandpa will want to take
you fishing." Dylan mumbled something of a yes as he continued his
survey of the landscape. He noticed small ponds, some bordering on
being lakes, sitting silently amid the fields. He noticed how the
sun reflected off the metal decking on top of several rusted barns.
And then his attention turned toward the fences. Dozens of them.
Ancient forgotten things held together mostly by rust. His eyes
roamed over the neglected structures.

Who put them up, he
wondered. Some senile old farmers or maybe long dead city workmen.
There would be no way to find out for sure however so Dylan resigned
himself

to the fact and became
content to merely gaze at the old boundaries as they went past his
window.

"Nonsense. You're
only here for the weekend. Hafta squeeze in as much fun as
possible." Yeah, that was Grandpa, full of energy, even at
seventy.

The boat rocked when
Dylan stepped on board. Being somewhat wary of boats since he nearly
fell off one two summers ago, he moved carefully.

"Come on Dylan, my
boy. It's okay, your doin' fine." Grandpa's withered and
slightly yellowed hand reached out. It was going to be the two of
them. Dad couldn't come because Mom had him repairing the front
deck, which had developed a slant and was in need of additional
supports.

"Grandpa," Dylan
said when they had settled in at one of Grandpa's favorite spots.
"What's the name of this lake?"

Taking off his glasses,
he responded. "He was commanding officer of the fourth

infantry division during
the Civil War."

Not noticing the fish
nibbling at his line, Dylan exclaimed, "Wow! The Civil War! What
were army men doing up here?"

"Won't find it in
any history books, or on that there History Channel, but…. I'll
tell ya something if ya promise not to tell your parents I told ya."
Dylan nodded vigorously.

"Sometime towards the
end of the Civil War, this area was infiltrated by a small band of
Confederate soldiers. There were around ten of them. They somehow
managed to slip past the lines before anyone knew the wiser."
Noticing he had his grandson hanging on his every word, he heightened
the suspense.

"You ask me," he
whispered, leaning in even closer to Dylan, "they came to this area
for a special purpose…witchcraft." Dylan's eyes expanded.
"Yep, witchcraft. Or magic, or voodoo, or whatever you want to
call it. They knew they were losing the war. Regular fighting
wouldn't do the trick anymore." He leaned in even closer.
"They had to resort to different methods…magic methods."

Dylan set down his pole.
Suddenly he wasn't interested in fishing. "You mean they were
going to use magic to win the war?"

"You bet."

"But how? Did they
have a spell book or crystal ball or something?"

"Don't really know
for sure. All we really know is that they managed to do some of
their handiwork before they were discovered." He let a wry smile
escape. "It was Sufferet's men who found them. Captured all
ten of them."

Dylan found himself
sweating despite the brisk wind. "What happened to them?"

"They were arrested
and hung for treason." Laying down his pole, he continued.

"Not a one of them
said a word, though. Not a peep." Then he reposed himself and
waited for his grandson's response.

"Where did this
happen?"Dylan asked.

"About a half-mile
from here." His face took on a sullen look. "But that's not
the end of the story. A few days later, sentry men started hearing
strange noises in the fields. Really strange noises. Noises that
sounded like teeth chattering."

"Teeth chattering?"

"Yep, that's right.
Sufferet's men reported the noises and he, too, heard them. Sent
shivers down his spine it did. He sent four men in to investigate
that very night."

"What did they
find?"Dylan asked in a tense voice.

"Never came back."
His blank expression spoke volumes. "And queer thing, though, is
that a storm came up out of nowhere and forced the men to wait till
morning to do a search."

"Did they find them?"

"Nope. Not a one.
Searched everywhere, too." He quietly picked up his pole and
resumed his fishing.

"What did they do?"

Pretending to fumble
with his bait box, he looked out at the serene view.

"Well, Sufferet
ordered his men to build fences. Why he did this, we don't know.
Some say he went back into those very fields the next night. Came
back white as a sheet. It was after that that he put up the
fences."

Dylan nodded. "Are
those the fences that I seen coming up here?"

"The very same. Can
see 'em all along the road. Old looking things, only held together
by rust and wire. They keep whatever's out there in check."

With his heart in his
throat, Dylan forced himself to ask, "Keep what in check?"

"Whatever those men
conjured up with their magic."

"But how could old
fences keep monsters and demons away?"

"Don't have to look
nice to work."

A fish interrupted the
conversation. But just as abruptly, it broke free of the line.
Dylan's Grandfather knew he had told the boy too much, but he
couldn't stop now, not when he was so close to the end.

"Went out in those
fields myself a couple of times. Course it was daylight out.
Didn't see a thing." Then the old man looked his grandson
straight in the eye. "Don't know if those fences are to keep
people out…or to keep something in."

Dylan was doing his best
to remain strong. He never was one to suffer from nightmares, but he
was sure that this story would really test him.

"Your folks know about
it. Why do you think you never come or leave from here at night?"

Dylan's fear must have
shown through because his Grandfather then added, "but don't you
worry none, boy. I've been living here for the better part of
fifty years. Never had a problem. When you're faced with
something that scares you, best thing to do is learn all about it.
Then you can take steps to remedy the situation."

The remainder of the
fishing trip was done in relative silence. Occasional attempts at
conversation fell through. The family tree, the latest baseball
scores, the weather, all wound up empty. Dylan felt somewhat
uncomfortable. Fear was gnawing at his gut. It took every ounce of
strength he had to keep the story out of his mind. He succeeded
somewhat…or at least until that night.

If his parents had known
the story, why hadn't they told him? How could they keep coming
up here if any of it were true? And how could he sleep at night
now knowing that whatever's out there is…is…awake. However,
it could have been just a story.

Legends generally
strayed from reality. But most had at least a basis of truth to
them. He finally decided to confront his parents.

"Mom, Dad, can I talk
to you for a minute?"

"Sure, what's up,
kiddo?" Mom peered out from her magazine.

"Grandpa told me about
the fences. Is it true? " He figured it would be best to go
straight to the point. His parents exchanged nervous glances. It
was obvious they knew something.

"Dylan," his Dad
said in a calm but troubled tone. "We know the story. Grandpa
told it to me when I was a little boy. We don't really believe any
of it however."

"Then why do we never
come or go when it's dark outside? Why at night are we always
inside?"

Both his Mom and Dad set
down their reading material. This time his Mom spoke.

"Well…we just think
it's better to be safe, that's all. Now, want to play cards?"
Dylan mumbled no as he sauntered off towards his room. Suddenly he
wasn't in the mood to do much of anything.

"Tom, we never
actually did see anything."

"I know, I know. But
sometimes I wonder myself."

In his room, Dylan
stared out the window. The moonlight illuminated every surface it
could reach with a cool white light. Shadows hung silently within
this scene, creating contrast with the moonlight.

All was still.

How could they not have
told him? Of course, his other side reasoned, there still was the
possibility that none of it was true. Then they would only have been
sparing…there! Something moved! He had seen it. Something out in
the fields. A shadow? Trees bending to the wind? A small animal
searching for food? Maybe. But nothing moved now. Regardless, he
found himself scanning the fields with newfound alertness.

Sleep eventually
overtook him. He awoke the following morning with a stiff neck and a
mission that had festered in his mind until it won action. He would
venture into the surrounding fields after breakfast. After all, it
would be daylight.

"Can I go exploring
after breakfast?" He caught a raised eyebrow from his Grandfather.

"Why would you want to
do that?" his Dad asked between mouthfuls of pancakes.

"Uh…just wanna see
some nature." He winced at his pathetic answer. How he got that
one past them he couldn't figure out, but there were other things
on his mind now. Such as finding out if there was any truth to the
story.

But when it came time to
cross the boundary fence into the fields, he found himself hesitating
to the point of backing out. Don't be stupid, he told himself.
There's nothing there. And anyways, even if there was something,
it's daytime.

He walked slowly at
first, being hindered by the knee-high grass. But he soon progressed
to a steady stride. Where he was going and what he was looking for,
he did not know, but he was certain he would know when he found
anything.

Minutes passed into
hours with Dylan hardly realizing it. The trees gently swayed,
directed by the wind and the Sun, which earlier had seemed so
friendly, and which now appeared to have a sinister look to it.
Imagination again? Perhaps, but worry still wormed its way into his
mind. His stomach grumbling interrupted his thoughts. He was
growing weary of this venture, and not knowing exactly where he was
didn't help either. He decided to turn back, but the grass slowed
his every step. Feeling anxiety creeping in, he scanned the horizon
for a familiar sight, but nothing appeared familiar. Just retrace
his steps, that's all. That's all he needed to do.

Easier said than done
though for there were no earlier steps to be seen. Only high grass
which slung itself mindlessly against his legs. And worse still was
that the daylight was fading fast. He estimated that he had only
about an hour of it left. This despite the fact that he had
breakfast only a few short hours ago. If he were out here after
dark….he shuddered at the mere thought of it.

He felt the night air
seeping in around him and with it a cold chill. He also felt
something else, something…evil. It was strengthening its hold on
the night around him. He made his legs move as fast as they could
despite the ache. But soon his body demanded a rest. Dylan panted
heavily as he fought the urge to sit down. He could see Grandpa's
house in the distance now, which made it even harder to take a break.
He started running towards the house. It steadily grew larger as he
drew nearer to it. Relief washed over him. But it was short- lived
for behind him he heard the noises. Strange noises. Noises similar
to teeth chattering. The realization that his Grandfather's story
was true struck him like a bolt of lightning. He ran. And this time
fatigue would be battled by his desire to live. A desire to get away
from whatever was behind him.

"Dylan? Dylan, is
that you?" It was his Mom. She was waiting for him by the house.
"He's here," she shouted to his Dad, who was coming out the
front door.

"Dylan? Is that you,
son? Come on, you can make it!"

Dylan's legs were
burning now. And worse still, the noises were gaining on him. He
could hear them closing in behind. Fifty more feet and they…it…would
overtake him. But he was nearing the property fence to the house.
His Dad was jumping over the fence to

get to him. Dylan dared
not look behind him. But he felt the unmistakable feeling that
whatever was there, was on the verge of catching him.

"Oh, my dear God!"
he heard his Mom scream. "Run, Dylan, run!"

He reached his Dad and
together they leaped over the fence. The noises abruptly stopped and
all was silent. Being smothered by his parents never felt so good.
Dylan's Grandpa stood by quietly. His eyes reflected the same
disbelief as his son and daughter-in-law's. "Well, I'll be
damned," he mumbled. "I'll be damned."

****

Dylan hardly said a word
in the car. He stared out the window with a blank expression while
his parents talked under the constant music from the radio. He
feared for his grandfather's safety and he feared even more the
fact that he had never seen what was in those fields that night. How
could he ever face and deal with it if he never actually saw it?

"Why can't Grandpa
come live with us?"

Your grandfather has
lived up there for over fifty years. Nothing's going to make him
move, especially at his age."

"But it's not safe!"
Dylan interjected.

"Don't worry," his
Dad said in a reassuring tone. "Grandpa said he was going to make
some repairs first thing. Said he knew exactly what to do to make it
safe."

The words did little to
ease Dylan's mind, but what could he do? He settled for making his
parents promise to call Grandpa every day. He had to be sure that
nothing was going to happen.

****

They never heard from
Grandpa again after that day. Not a trace of him was found. No
blood. No signs of forced entry or struggle. No body.
Nothing…except for a few tools out by one of the fences in the
backyard. The repairs had apparently been completed. Several posts
had been replaced and new wire had been fastened securely throughout
the fences.

Had he done the repairs
at night? Dylan doubted it. He wouldn't have been that foolish.
But how then could something have happened to him? If it had been
during the daylight, he should have been safe. Unless, and the
thought made Dylan shudder, that whatever was in those fields didn't
need the cloak of night any longer. Or perhaps the fences could no
longer contain it.

But he had to get some
sleep now. He had to get up extra early tomorrow to help with the
fences. His Dad wanted to get an early start because he wasn't
sure how much they would have to put up. Apparently, he knew what to
do to make the fences strong. Dylan could only pray that they would
work.

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